Hit The Floor
by Zackary Anderson J
Summary: The boy with the heart two sizes too large became a disconsolate cynic with a slowly but surely shrinking heart. And for each size his heart shrunk, a creature of the night, an evil critter with a taste for vengeance yearned for the touch of his hand. Or in which Jackson and Matt are both kanima with the same Master and everything is an elaborate plan.
1. So Cold

HIT THE FLOOR: SO COLD

**Disclaimer:: **I do not own Teen Wolf** or any recognizable characters, artistic inventions, etcetera. Jeff Davis developed it; Monica Macer produced it, and MTV airs it. **I do not own the song So Cold or any of its lyrics**. It was written by Benjamin Burnley, produced by David Bendeth, and performed by the band Breaking Benjamin. **I do not, did not, and will not make any money from writing this**.******

A/N: Wanted to throw in my attempt at an AU where Matt wasn't the kanima's Master, but he was a kanima too. Jackson and Matt share the same Master, not sure if that can actually happen but it's an AU so… now it can. I think it's obvious who the Master is in this, but I wrote it so… it's probably obvious. Whatevs. Lemme know what you think in a review please!  
I'm also sorry for those of you who were waiting on an update for Kidnap The Sandy Claws. I have it written but I left it at my cousin's house in Spain on my USB. It's getting mailed over but I'm unsure as to when it will arrive in the US. Please be a little more patient!(:

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Crowded streets are cleared away  
One by One  
Hollow heroes separate  
As they run

You're so cold  
Keep your hand in mine  
Wise men wonder while strong men die

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.*.

.*.

Jackson stared across the library, briefly meeting the eyes of his Master as the shorter man mumbled along in irritancy. His blood felt as though it was vibrating as it coursed through his veins, anticipation replacing all of his white blood cells while the urge to please his Master replaced the red blood cells. He had his orders. Orders he was instructed to act in accordance with, and Jackson fully intended to. The _both_ of them did, and their Master was confident in his plan that, in the end, all would be perfect and those guilty would perish.

Jackson struggled against the smile that was tempted to pull at his lips and feigned illness instead. The mechanic… Mr. Lahey… the hunter… the couple from last night… Master had been so proud. Jackson thought back to those times and how he'd pleased his Master. He had to look down to hide his face from Allison's jumpy looks, a smile breaking through against Jackson's will.

Matt was sitting across from him. Before he sat down, he locked eyes with Jackson and they shared a passing thought before nodding at each other curtly. Matt too had his orders to fulfill, mumbling under his breath at his electronic copy of the Bestiary, just loud enough for Allison to hear and do a curious double-take. Matt allowed himself to look abashed at being heard "talking to himself" and put his Samsung Galaxy _Tablet _down, pulling forwards his bag of chips instead. Matt offered Jackson the bag chips and Jackson declined. They wordlessly argued; their eyebrows spoke in depths, over Jackson not talking any of them for several moments while their Master prepared everything, setting the scene.

**_"Jackson,"_** He was given his command via thought and the incited teen started acting feverish and headachy. He stood and headed to leave the room. **_"Matt…"_** The still seated boy was impelled.

"You okay?" Matt asked with a feigned concern and curiosity. Jackson just nodded, saying something about needing some water. Of course he was okay. He was going to be okay. _Everything _was going to be okay. Jackson knew that, and Matt knew that, and his Master knew that too. Then again Master always knew. He knew how Jackson felt, when things were getting too rough on him, how to make it all better.

In the bathroom, he pressed the heel of his hand into his groin. He wanted his master to make it _all_ better… He panted and cracked his neck in front of the mirror, scolding himself for his body's reaction. He had a job to do for fucks sake. If he did it well enough then perhaps Master would reward him—and Matt of course. He loved his Master's rewards…

His prick throbbed he needed it, but now wasn't the time for that. He couldn't seem to physically remove his hand from his erection.

**_"Head on out, Jackson,"_** his Master permitted. He couldn't walk out with a boner! Matt would—his _Master_ would—ugh. Scott was in the library, Jackson unenthusiastically remembered. The reminder of Scott's painful existence in Jackson's life led him to the remembrance of how the werewolf had his head practically shoved up the female hunter's ass most of the time. Thinking of Allison slowly but surely turned Jackson completely off, especially when he had the briefest flashback of himself nude on top of the archer. He gagged and shivered in a disgusted convulse.

Jackson walked out of the bathroom confidently, his head held high. He sat down once he was back in the library and mumbled to Matt briefly. He made a point of avoiding looking at his Master, something that Matt had been doing so casually with his bag of chips.

Five minutes passed.

Then five more went by.

The six teenagers were alone in the library. Matt and Jackson glanced at each other, Matt's eyebrows drawn together in puzzlement.

"You okay, dude?" Matt asked loud enough for Erica to hear them from the next bookcase over, even without her amped up werewolf senses. Jackson nodded. They were both getting concerned. Why was their master waiting so long? Was he changing the quickly made plans into something more elaborate? What was he waiting—?

**_"Jackson,"_** Jackson blinked. **_"Close your eyes, Jackson."_** His Master instructed. He didn't understand and started to shake involuntarily, sweating. What about the plan, what about—? **_"Close them now."_** His Master commanded, getting aggravated. Jackson clenched his eyes shut, berating himself in every single little way for questioning his Master's motives. His Master shushed him in comfort.

**_"Master…"_** Had he spoken it his breath would have hitched and whimpering pathetically. Had they been wolves he would have laid belly-up and bared his neck to his alpha. He didn't want to disappoint… he wanted… he wanted to…

**_"Make me proud, pretty boy."_**Jackson dropped his book, the noise muffled by Allison and Stiles' voices coming to some sort of awe-inspiring conclusion. Jackson's eyes flashed gold, claws elongating as the scales on his neck and back emerged. He grabbed Matt by the back of his neck and pulled him towards himself roughly, their foreheads pressing together with a soft noise from the collision.

"Don't fuck it up," Matt whispered to him and Jackson barely heard him, even with his own enhanced hearing. Jackson drew him into a harsh kiss of teeth and tongues and scraped the back of his neck with a venom-laced talon as Allison whispered Scott's name loudly. The plan was in motion the nanosecond before Matt even hit the floor.

.*.

Over the next few weeks nothing of much significance happened. Master laid out convenient events that were to happen, all of those arrangements accosted with a finger pointing at Matt as the Master. The two kanima had laughed after their Master left. It was a stretch, and they weren't going to question or go against the plan, but Matt? Being the Master? Yeah right, like that would ever happen! He liked being on his back too much to man up and tell anyone what to do.

It was Wednesday, the day of Lydia's birthday party. They were all there, Jackson had arrived five minutes ago and this all rested on Scott, this final part of that day's plan. In his clear sight, Jackson pulled Matt out of the pool and the two looked the werewolf dead in the eye, as if daring him to say something; as if daring him to _do_ something. They both saw something click in Scott's dimwitted, Allison-obsessed eyes.

The two left the party before Scott did when the cops came. Only moments before him though, they had to be sure he saw them together to confirm his probable suspicions. Scott did see them. Scott saw, thought, and completely believed everything that their Master wanted him to. Scott was just another card ready to be tossed out of their Master's hand, and though Matt and Jackson didn't believe it would work, they were proved wrong. Master was always right.

.*.

Two hours later, the Stilinskis, Master, the mutt, the Argents, and the McCalls were all at the police station, held at claw and/or gun point. Derek was paralyzed on the floor with the loudmouthed boy beside him being strangely silent, the Sheriff was chained to a wall, and Mrs. McCall was in a holding cell.

Allison Argent was dead.

Chris Argent was dead.

A gurgling sound was heard.

Sheriff John Stilinski was dead.

Derek was desperately trying to save Stiles from the commotion going on around them. By the time he finally got around and pulled Stiles up, the kanima—Jackson—showed up seconds later. Derek dropped Stiles and attacked the lizard with all his might, protecting Stiles with his life as the Batman-wannabe watched on in fear. Where the ever-loving-fuck was Scott?

**_"Matt, what's taking you so long with the old man?"_**

**_"He's chasing me, what do I do, what do you want me to do?"_** His tone was bordering on a panic. The Argents weren't even a _part _of the plan! The kanima scratched Derek and the werewolf fell for the second time. Stiles' breathing increased as he watched him go down.

**_"Babe, the river…"_**

**_"Master?"_**

**_"He thinks you're the Master, Matt. He'll want control over Jackson, and he'll try to kill you to get it."_** He would _try_, but he wouldn't succeed. Matt couldn't die. Not before killing Master.

**_"Master, I'm—"_**

**_"I know you're scared, baby,"_** The term of endearment calmed down the frightened teen slightly. He had to rush; Jackson had to do his part in this too and Scott was still mobile and running around like a chicken with its head cut off. **_"But would I make you go through something that scared me?"_**

**_"No, but—"_**

**_"Am I afraid of water?"_**

**_"No, Ma—"_**

**_"Go, baby. Make it believable."_**

**_"I love you, Master—"_**

**_"I love you!"_**

Matt's train of though was jumbled with memories of his untimely first death and panic as Gerard Argent took him down and held his throat under the water. Matt was frantically pleading for his Master to stop, convinced he was being punished for something, apologizing profusely. Scott walked into the room that the alpha mutt was in.

"Jackson!" Scott roared, trying to get the lizard to come back to his senses, but he was easily evaded as the kanima dived to the side and scratched him with three of his claws, pushing out as much venom as he possibly could, just as he'd done with Derek's four scratches. Jackson ran out of the building in the direction of the bridge and Stiles sobbed.

**_"Hurry, Jackson!" _** The connection between Matt and his Master cut out briefly.

Seconds later, when Jackson's hand touched Gerard's, it held no meaning whatsoever. If anything, Jackson felt dirty and violated. Quietly, Matt moved his body, shakily shifting into his own kanima form. Matt scratched Gerard's nape and the man turned, ready to attack despite his numbing limbs when Jackson jumped on him, standing on the old man's upper back and holding the back of his head underwater with a foot. When he fell limp and his heartbeat disappeared for good, the two kanima ran together in an untamed rush towards the police station to finish what they started.

**_"Derek's moving, run!"_**

When the last syllable left their Master's mind, they arrived in the room; one through the door, the other through the window next to it in the tiny office.

"Scott!" Derek called as he turned around and looked feral, he had been moving Stiles when he smelled the lizard, no—lizards. His heart was pounding in a hidden horror, why were there two of them?! Where was Matt and who the hell was the other Master?! "Get up!" He moved in front of Stiles to protect the human from the vengeful creature—creatures—once again.

"Derek…" the human whispered; heartbeat irregular.

"I know, Stiles! You're gonna be fine."

**_"Kill him. And the human."_**

The two lizards jumped, both going after the Alpha, making sure to scratch McCall once or twice just to be sure he wouldn't interfere. Stiles received one or two, but Derek was always there to shield the human from the flying claws, batting them away with his own set. Derek went down and Matt followed him quickly, swiftly taking a large bite at his neck. Derek's throat was torn out and Stiles had a brief moment to remember what he'd threatened to do to Stiles—ripping his throat out…_with his teeth_. Derek was gurgling on his own throat…

Derek Hale was dead.

Scott choked at the sight and roared; Stiles screamed before the scent of his vomit slowly filled the room, his screams filling the air once more after his stomach emptied itself of its contents from the sight. Melissa McCall cried out her son's name just as Mr. Stilinski had before he died. Jackson ran and her screams got louder before they were abruptly cut off.

Melissa McCall was dead.

The two boys lay sobbing on the floor, one propped against the wall, and the other in a slowly building pool of Derek's blood as the kanima went to town on his corpse.

**_"The supply closet. Go now, reinforcements are arriving."_** The flashing lights of the police cars could be seen through the low windows. Matt turned his head and saw what his Master was talking about. Matt made quick work of slicing through Derek's waist, his body being torn in half. The spinal cord snapped when forced and the blood-soaked kanima took his time lifting up the loudly crying human like he was a sobbing babe. Jackson returned, covered in momma McCall's blood. Claws dripping venom, he lifted the mourning son and pricked him with a nail to cease the mourning teen wolf, throwing him over his shoulder. They dumped the boys in the closet unceremoniously, and slammed the door shut behind them.

After a few seconds, the bloody lizard reentered the closet momentarily. He glanced at the two boys and flicked the lock on the door, hissing quietly. He backed away and shut the door quietly, rushing off with the other kanima to go home. Stiles was a wreck, his sobs turned into loud screams that didn't even seem loud enough for the boy's own two ears in the small room. Scott's sobs were close to following.

**_"So proud of you both, my beautiful boys. So fucking proud. So fucking proud…"_**

"Gerard," Stiles yelled. "He did this, he wanted the pack gone, he threatened to—your mom… he did this, he killed my dad… dad… _daddy_!" His echoed wails were heard by the backup men who broke off the lock and handle of the door and then carried the two weak, bloodied, broken boys out of the closet and into a waiting ambulance.

.*.

That moment would go down as the Argent Incident. The school closed for a good two weeks until everything was back on schedule and everything was cleaned up and the town was calmed down. The Argent house was closed off for further investigation when the plethora of guns and other illegal weapons were found stashed in the basement.

The police called it a murder homicide. They weren't quite sure how to explain the mess with Derek Hale being there, or the mess that he turned into, but by the way it looked the Argents were out for something. Three police men, a police woman, and an innocent nurse, were killed along with the Sheriff. Derek Hale and the three Argents were in on the act.

The story told by the boys was that Matt walked in with a gun, threatening them, the sheriff and Scott's mom, and went to kill them all, but the Argents followed in soon after with their own surplus of arms. Hell broke loose and the two teens managed to hide themselves in the closet, tripping over bodied on the way. Stiles had mentioned that Matt had disappeared early on and noted that it was weird.

When the police actually found Matt two hours after the teens were interrogated he was being comforted by Jackson in an empty park. The blonde boy's clean clothes had the blood from Matt's clothes on them, staining the cotton. Matt was crying and shaking hysterically, a pool of vomit not far from the two of them. When he was taken in for questioning, the boy managed to say that they threatened his mother, told him that they'd kill her and him if he didn't comply.

Three and a half hours later, the woman was unable to get a hold of.

Three and a half days later, the woman was declared missing.

The Whittemore family decided that, sure the kids fucked up with their little "kidnapping Jackson prank," but no child deserved to lose both of their parents and be thrown into foster care. They thought the same with their baby, Jackson, when they took him in as a toddler. Stiles and Scott were moved in with the Whittemore family. Stiles and Jackson grew closer. Scott was adamant and persistent with his dislike of the fact that he was staying with them and that the two boys were growing closer while he was being isolated. Danny offered to take in Scott after one complaint too many, which Scott accepted graciously.

_ .*._

_"He killed your **father**, Stiles!" Scott had yelled—scolded, actually—in rage; spit flying as his eyes glowed golden._

_"No he didn't," Stiles had disagreed emotionlessly. "Allison did. They found an arrow, you know, it was laced in some type of poison. It was in his **neck**, Scott." Scott hadn't known that. He gasped._

_"What..? No, they—they… she… no, she couldn't..?" He didn't even sound like he believed himself. Pathetic; and he had the audacity to call himself Stiles' friend? Stiles' **best** friend nonetheless?_

_"Yeah," Stiles said through a melancholic scoff. "She could. In fact, she actually **did**. You were at the funeral, you saw him lying there," Stiles reminded Scott bitterly choking out his words at the memory with a hand gesture to the side, as if the casket were on display next to them in the cafeteria. "So thanks for that..." He shook his head, face downcast and growing angry. "You know after all those times that I helped you two and never even asked for anything back. Or when I **did **ask you for help and you blew me off because you were with her. I mean shit, Scott! I fucking helped you unquestionably a million and a half times, and you don't even have the decency to watch the fucking news once in a while and find out that the very girl that was tearing our fucking **twelve year friendship** apart was the same heartless **bitch** that killed my father!? But no, you can't even hold any resentment towards her! No, you go and **defend** her crazy ass, when there's no point to! It's not cute anymore, okay? I mean are all guys really this stupid, or are they all just sex-driven? You know, cuz she can't fuck you **now**, Scott! And even with her gone you somehow **still** don't have time for me because of her!" Stiles was pissed and he was hurt, he didn't intend on blowing up on Scott like that in the middle of the cafeteria, but things happen when they happen, and sometimes... shit happens._

_Everyone around them, everyone in the cafeteria was standing still, gaping; in shock. Everyone knew how close they were, and they all knew how rare it was to see an angry Stiles. Even the teachers on their lunch breaks didn't dare make a sound, knowing that they shouldn't let this argument continue to pan out, yet they were still waiting to see how it would all end, how Scott would respond to the boys claims and accusations._

_He didn't respond though. Not really, but his inability to fish out the words that he needed to say did just as much good as telling Stiles to go fuck himself would have done. Scott was stuttering the ninth letter of the alphabet like it was going to miraculously salvage their rapidly diminishing friendship. Stiles shook his head in a mixture of disappointment, disgust, sorrow, shame, and pity. Across the room Jackson stepped forward and threw out his recently purchased food, plastic tray and all. The Whittemore withdrew his keys from his pocket hesitantly, watching the emotionally wounded ADHD boy._

_"Fuck you, Scott." Stiles whispered, but the whole cafeteria heard him say it anyway. To Scott he might as well have yelled it over the loud-speakers like they had when they tried to lure the alpha wolf to them. Stiles walked out of the cafeteria, Jackson trailing after him immediately._

_Everyone slowly got into their regular routine of sitting with their friends and getting their food. They quietly whispered about what just occurred, texting their friends who were in class about it, openly watching the teen wolf. Scott stood there until the bell rang and stared blankly at his shoes with wide eyes until it did, thinking back on their friendship Scott finally realized just how shitty a friend he actually **had** been to Stiles._

_The hyperactive boy had always been there for him. Stiles was there when he watched his—watched their first porno. He was there for Scott when he, for all of five minutes, thought he was gay for Danny in the sixth grade. He was there for him when Scott lost his father to emphysema. He was there for Scott's first kiss, much to Stiles' displeasure. Stiles was there for Scott when he lost his manlihood; when it turned into his wolflihood. Stiles was there for him when Scott nearly lost his mind on the first full moon. Stiles was there for him when they were trapped in the school with a temperamental Peter who was after their asses. He was there for Scott when they almost died at the hands of Peter too. Stiles was there for Scott whenever someone's life was put on the risk. He was there for him, literally, when he lost his girlfriend and he was there for him when he lost his mother too. And now, Stiles was there when he lost the only thing he had left—himself, his best friend, his anchor, his rock, his… Stiles._

.*.

Scott and Stiles distanced themselves from each other after that, not quite knowing exactly how to dance around the issue that Scott was a deadbeat friend from the get-go. Scott blamed himself for everything. Their parents were dead and Scott, had he been less attentive with Allison's death, could have protected them better. He could have gotten the two out of the police station easily with all the chaos going on around them. He could have stopped his crazy girlfriend—ex-girlfriend—late ex-girlfriend from killing his best friend's—ex-best friend's father and only other relative. He could have saved them all, but because of him they were all dead. And that's exactly how Stiles looked at Scott, like he was a murderer. That was kind of how Scott looked at himself too.

.*.

The town treated the two boys like they were porcelain, like they needed to be whispered to rather than talked to. Their first day back to school, when they walked into chemistry thirty minutes late, everyone stopped everything and just watched them walk to their seats and sit there blankly. Mr. Harris didn't even hassle either of them and he wouldn't until midway through their senior year next year. He sort of acted like they were only there when they chose to be, when they had a question or needed to use the bathroom. Most of their teachers did the same. Finstock didn't yell at either of them and allowed them to sit out during games or practice and not answer questions in class. Stiles continued to be a bench warmer and became very close with Lydia, Jackson, Danny, and Matt.

When Scott tried to say something about his friendship with Matt whilst alone in the field, the photographer turned into the kanima ("I can control _it_, just not particularly _myself _all the time") without saying a word. He shifted back just as easily. The lone wolf in Beacon Hills knew that a kanima couldn't be its own Master, let alone the Master of another kanima.

"I thought I told you to fuck off?" was what Stiles asked him as Matt slid an arm around the shoulders of the shorter haired boy. Stiles looked up at him and the two shared a brief kiss, a peck that held no lust or passion. Just a push of lip against lip. It was merely something that they did when they needed the comfort, the reassurance that "I'm here; I won't leave you for anyone because I'm not that type of friend." Stiles often kissed the three of them, Matt, Jackson, and Danny. He'd done it to Lydia once, but she didn't feel comfortable with the boy who'd been in love with her since the third grade kissing her. Lydia knew he was still hurting over his dad so she didn't yell or hit him, but she did let him know how she felt on the matter. Stiles accepted it and said nothing, only that he _was_ over the strawberry blonde as gently as he possibly could tell her that.

Scott took the kiss the wrong way, just as he was meant to, and the two boys walked away from him without looking back, Matt's thumb rubbing a faded scar on the nape of Stiles' neck from the time in the police station before sliding down to squeeze at Stiles' ass. Scott seethed, growling, and Stiles rolled his eyes, knowing exactly the effect it had on Scott and that Matt meant for it to have said effect.

Scott left the lacrosse team after that and spent his afternoons beating up the trees around the Hale house, blaming himself for the death of his mother, his girlfriend, her family, his best friend's father, his would-be alpha and his most meaningful relationship that he took for granted time and time again—his friendship with Stiles.

.*.

The town was broken, but it was healing… it was still broken nonetheless. And in the center of it all, the Master lay with his servants, his pets, his lovers in the empty house of his childhood. Stroking their necks and running his hands through their hair as they nuzzled his neck and jaw line with their lips and noses. They trailed licks and kisses all the way down their Master's body to his pulsating member. He gasped loudly when their mouths and tongues just about fought over the head of his cock, one losing the battle and trailing down to suck in one of his balls while the other went to town on his cock. The kanima Master groaned in pleasure at the heat of the mouths on his genitals,

**_"I want Scott dead."_**

.*.

Thank you so much for reading! Please **review**! The next chapter will be out soon, promise!(:


	2. Hit The Floor

HIT THE FLOOR: HIT THE FLOOR

**Disclaimer:: **I do not own Teen Wolf** or any recognizable characters, artistic inventions, etcetera. Jeff Davis developed it; Monica Macer produced it, and MTV airs it. **I do not own the song Hit The Floor or any of its lyrics**. It was written by Rob Bourdon, Brad Delson, Dave Farrell, Joe Hahn, Mike Shinoda, and Chester Bennington, produced by Don Gilmore, and performed by the band Linkin Park. **I do not, did not, and will not make any money from writing this**.**

Yeah, this is all unbeta'd, so sorry if it's a piece of shit.

A/N: Hit The Floor part 2/2.

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There are just too many times that people have tried to look inside of me  
Wondering what I think of you and I protect you out of courtesy  
Too many times that I've held on when I needed to push away  
Afraid to say what was on my mind afraid to say what I need to say

Too many things that you've said about me when I'm not around  
You think having the upper hand means you gotta keep putting me down  
But I've had too many standoffs with you it's about as much as I can stand  
So I'm waiting until the upper hand is mine

So many people like me put so much trust in all your lies  
So concerned with what you think to just say what we feel inside  
So many people like me walk on eggshells all day long  
All I know is that all I want is to feel like I'm not stepped on  
There are so many things you say that make me feel you've crossed the line  
What goes up will surely fall and I'm counting down the time  
Cause I've had so many standoffs with you it's about as much as I can stand  
So I'm waiting until the upper hand is mine

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.*.

.*.

Stiles Stilinski was, if nothing else, a people pleaser. And if nothing else, living the life of a people pleaser got tiring, and it got old. It was a feeling that Stiles was sick and tired of, just as he was sick and tired of feeling sick and tired. He was feeling a little bit sick and tired of everything lately… Honestly, there's only so much one man—one sixteen, generous, giving, selfless, ADHD boy—can take.

He was tired of taking the fall for Scott when one of them had to get detention, he was tired of sitting in the hospital for days on end for a girl he's been crushing on since the third grade with no word of thanks, no acknowledgments; even a "fuck you, Stiles, go home!" would've been better than the big old slab of nothing that Stiles received from Lydia. Stiles was tired of missing out on playing lacrosse (okay, his first chance _ever_ at playing lacrosse) because Derek needed, of _all_ people, Stiles' help. Stiles was tired of getting no sleep because he spent all of his nights doing research. He was tired of almost dying numerous times while trying to help Scott, who barely so much as thanked him. Stiles was tired of stealing keys, and buying heavy chains, and making excuses, and lying, and being _everyone's fucking chauffeur._ Stiles was definitely sick of Allison. He had been pushed to the side for Allison more times than he was willing to think back on and try to count. From the beginning of school, Allison's first day in _Stiles'_ town and _Stiles'_ school and _Stiles' _best friend's world, Stiles had become second best in Scott's life. He was so damn tired… and it wasn't just of Scott, or Derek, or Lydia, or Jackson, or the fucking Plastics that broke their rule and wore leather _everyday._

He was sick of being the Robin to Scott's Batman; Stiles could handle being the Sam to Scott's Frodo. He was comfortable with it… he just wanted the same acknowledgements that Frodo got, that Scott got. Like when Sam lifted Frodo at the end and drag him up the rocks of Mordor so he could get rid of the ring, the ring overtook Frodo… but it never overtook Sam. Without Sam, the Ring would never have been destroyed. Sam, like Stiles, never _really _had evil intentions, because they were never tempted by power. The Ring could not claim him the way it seduced the less virtuous. Stiles and Sam both sacrificed themselves to embark on a god-awful journey for the sole reason of saving their best friends. That was the goal; save the best friend, save the world with no affectation to evil.

Stiles actually understood the temptation of evil. He saw all the little shades, angles, consequences in a way that Scott couldn't. He felt things, jealousy and insensitivity. Despite the envy, low confidence, and hesitation when Peter pressed his fangs against Stiles' clothed wrist, he never gave in to the temptations of the bite, just like Sam never gave in to the enticement of the Ring. If Sam ever were to wear the Ring, it wouldn't be quite; in fact, it'd feel heavier than it would on anyone else. He'd pull through it, of course, but he undoubtedly would get, like Stiles was of _everything_ and _everyone_ lately, fed up. He wouldn't let the Ring control his decisions like it had done with Gollum… or Bilbo…

Stiles' dad was another person that Stiles was getting sick of dealing with. He still loved the man unconditionally and endlessly, he always would and nothing could ever change that, but he was just getting fed up with his drinking. It was getting way too out of hand. Stiles sat on top of the monkey-bars at the playground a few blocks from his house, he sighed and hugged his legs tightly, burying his head in his knees. The hard bar beneath his rear was beginning to numb his butt, but he didn't care. He sniffled, the cold weather messing with the snot that was previously comfortably content in his nostrils. A pull of misty air left his mouth. His father had, once again, been drunk and bitter, moaning about how Stiles was a disappointment unworthy of surviving the boy's mother. Stiles stormed out, not even calm enough to grab his keys and take his Jeep somewhere to cool off. He ran to the park in the light drizzle of rain.

It wasn't his fault… he didn't care what his dad told him in his drunken rages, Stiles _did not_ kill his mom! He didn't… he… hell, if anything Scott's mom did, she was the one in charge of her care. She was supposed to make sure Stiles' mom's monitors didn't go out of whack; she was supposed to make sure that nothing happened to her when people visited. If nothing else, Melissa McCall and Derek, _fucking_ Derek Hale killed her. Derek and his mother had visited the night before she died, this was like four years before the fire that happened six years ago (Stiles was six, Derek was fourteen) before the fire and a new nurse had been working at the front desk…

.*.

_Stiles was getting all worked up because she wouldn't let him go up to visit his mother no matter how many times he told the woman that his mommy needed him. The werewolves were going in to visit a human relative that hadn't taken the bite and had just given birth. Mrs. Hale had kneeled before Stiles and gently turned him around by the shoulders, taking his hands with a gentle smile._

"_What's the matter, sweetie? Who needs you?" She'd asked while Derek happily informed the woman behind the desk that he was a proud new uncle,_

"_I'm really only his cousin, but he's gonna call me Uncle Derek. Mom said so... if he is a boy… If he's a girl then I guess… well…" Derek had then shrugged with an unimpressed facial expression and a grumble. His expression matched the woman's. She really couldn't care less. _

"_My momma!"_

"_Your momma?" Mrs. Hale repeated. "Is she sick?"_

"_Uh huh! She's got limericks and needs me or she's gonna get lonely and worser!"_

"_Well we can't have that now, can we?" She held out her arms and Stiles had hugged her, wrapping his legs around her waist when she carefully picked him up. "What's your last name, sweetheart?"_

"_Stilinski! Daddy's working but the ladies usually lemme go! She's just mean!" Stiles pouted and pointed at the woman behind the counter, who popped her gum._

_Mrs. Hale winked at him, "I'm taking him up to Jennifer Stilinski's room, can I have the floor number?"_

"_Ma'am, that isn't your child—"_

"_I went to book club with Jen before she fell ill. If you want, I could happily call the sheriff over to confirm, we all used to be very close when she was pregnant with this little guy." At the glare and mention of bringing the police into the situation, the grouchy woman gave them the room number. In the elevator, Stiles was happily chatting away. Asking how she knew his momma, if they read comics, occasionally glancing around her head to peek at Derek. The Hales stayed in Mrs. Stilinski's hospital room until Stiles fell asleep around seven at night. He woke up later at home, while his dad was tucking him in._

"_Momma…?"_

"_Mommy's with Mrs. McCall, Mrs. Hale and Derek. She's safe, don't worry, bud." John smiled at his son, pulling the covers up to Stiles' chin._

"_Not lonely?"_

_The sheriff kissed his son's forehead as the child fought to keep his eyes open and whispered, "Never."_

_The next morning on April 18, Jennifer Stilinski was pronounced dead at 6:13 in the morning. Stiles never even got the chance to say goodbye to her…_

.*.

Derek and Sophia Hale were the last two people, other than Melissa McCall to see Stiles' mother alive. Those two had done something, Stiles knew it. Apples never fell too far from their trees...

In the few short months that Stiles knew, _actually_ knew Derek, the older man had tied up Dr. Deaton, physically assaulted him, and threatened him in an attempt to gain information. He lied to Allison about his relationship with Scott, stole her jacket magically somehow, used it to lure Scott in and teach the teen a lesson. He'd killed his uncle to avenge the death of his sister. Apparently he snuck into the school's locker room just to threaten Jackson (so the jock said, anyway.) He snuck—correction, he _broke_ into Stiles' house just so he could slam him against hard objects, his car's steering wheel included. And on top of it all, he seemed to think that everyone enjoyed helping his fugitive, threatening, rude, ungrateful little werewolf ass. Derek was a manipulative liar, and he used really shady techniques to achieve the results he wanted to receive. The alpha had proven time and time again and time after time that he was a person who was completely willing to get down and get his hands dirty. It was who he was, and it wouldn't surprise Stiles if Derek _had_ done something to his mother. And if that was the personality of him now, and he was willing to do those things, what was he willing to do eight years ago? What was his mother like? She was probably in league with Satan, Stiles figured… and not in the fun, sacrifices small animals kind of way…

In Stiles' mind, Derek was guilty for Jennifer Stilinski's death though. Just as Scott's mother was. Mrs. McCall was supposed to _save_ her! Not sit back and worry over her failing marriage while Stiles' mom was dying! She did nothing! She could have called for help, or done something, or performed CPR or used a defibrillator—anything would have been better! But she didn't do anything; she probably never planned on doing anything. Mrs. McCall was just as much a murderer as Derek and his mother were.

Stiles' grip on his legs tightened, he was shivering but it was only slightly due to the chill of the cold wind in the chilled weather. Whatever happened to it being warm in California? Stiles bit hit tongue until he felt and tasted copper in his mouth. He used the pain in his mouth the keep the tears from falling from his already filled up tear ducts. He repeatedly told himself that he wasn't going to cry until he believed it, and it took a good five to ten minutes until that happened. He didn't understand when everything turned so bad, or where he went wrong. He released a dry sob, and whispered into the silent night,

"Something's got to give…"

Stiles was unfathomably loyal, unfailingly trustworthy, and a man of his word, but that didn't make him a saint. If something wasn't going to be changing soon, Stiles was going to get so tired of being the only one to always have to make a sacrifice. Munificence and that unwavering sense of obligation that made Stiles so damn reliable… it was going to break, because Stiles gave and gave and what was it that he _always_ got in return? Nothing.

No one could endure that forever. The world, Beacon Hills alone, was a hard place to live in, and Stiles had certainly overcome more than his fair share of obstacles in his sixteen years. Little by little, his apprehension for the people around him turned cold, and the boy with the heart two sizes too large became a disconsolate cynic with a slowly but surely shrinking heart. And for each size his heart shrunk, a creature of the night, an evil critter with a taste for vengeance yearned for the touch of his hand. Stiles' two demons, his two little furies; his pets.

That night he'd sobbed to himself on the monkey-bars was the night that they came to him. Stiles was terrified at first when he saw them, he had no idea what they were or what they wanted—hell for all he knew they were going to eat his legs and lay eggs in his skull! Stiles ended up falling a short distance to the ground in shock of the two creatures; they met him on the ground and timidly circled him. Stiles' gaze jumped between the two, unsure of what they were going to do and whether or not he should scream. They began to smell his upper torso, neck, and face. Stiles brought his arms to try and shield himself from a bite his face was sure to obtain.

Stiles gasped loudly when he felt two hesitant and scaly hands gently and slowly pushing their way into his, in a very slow, awkward high-five. His head flew up and his wide eyes paid no mind to the few tears that Stiles refused to acknowledge fell. The… iguana-creatures… they looked… lost, hopeless in a way. Like they'd been abandoned and no one seemed to care or want them anymore. Stiles knew that feeling all too well, to not be wanted. He didn't wish it upon anyone, whether they be an iguana-man or not! Mindless of the death and pain promising claws, Stiles laced his fingers with the two lizards' and tightly grasped their scaled hands.

He rose to his knees, hands still being held, and fell forward with another sob, this one coming out of the blue and surprising him. His head landed surprisingly gracefully onto the shoulders of the two scaled beings. Their tails wrapped around his body like a warm cocoon, sheltering Stiles from the cold, cold world. The tips of their tails explored his body as if familiarizing themselves with it. The tails moved gracefully around each other, occasionally entwining with each other as they shared Stiles' body like an island. They seemed to purr as they butted and nuzzled the shaved head of their Master before them. Grateful and loved hisses left their mouths. They seemed like pleas, small begs for the human to take care of them, to _want_ them and Stiles whispered "I want you," and he meant it.

.*.

Jackson was the last of the two kanima to be aware of Stiles' meaning to them. He'd been tip-toeing around the ADHD boy since he shorter of the two was upped to front-line for all of a day until he was replaced having failed to show up at the lacrosse game. During practice that day, the kanima and the jittery teen had been coming into many, _many_ bouts of physical contact. It only took the first tackled for Jackson to know who and what Stiles was to him. He'd groaned in unison with the boy underneath him, Stiles in pain, Jackson in despair. Of all people…

Who the hell would Stiles want to avenge anyway? It's not like he knew anyone that went about killing people. The only ones who died in Beacon Hills all that recently was that chick in the woods, the Hale family six years ago, and Mrs. Stilin—oh. Jackson thought that she died of lymphoma though? Or limericks, as the toddler went around saying.

That night around 11:45 Jackson lay in bed, _trying_ to rub one out before his shift on the new moon, when he was overwhelmed by a sudden tidal wave of hurt and fear. He dropped his now-flaccid cock and instead gripped his chest, just over his heart, in agony. The thoughts of Stiles, the memories, raked through Jackson's brain in painful whispers. They'd be clearer and virtually painless once the jock was claimed by the accepting touch of his Master's palm on his own. Until he was acknowledged as _Stiles'_ though, the Kanima would suffer.

Matt was a different story. After a stray shot had been taken from his camera, Matt had ended up staring at it for a good three hours with a sense of longing leaking from his bones. He didn't question himself why the hyperactive boy was full of vengeance; he just hoped that once he'd been accepted the boy wouldn't make him do anything stupid. The only reason he hadn't made the initiation to be accepted was Jackson.

The two had bumped into each other and were currently in a sort of territory war. They'd crawled around the outside of peoples homes when they shifted, scenting near the windows of peoples' rooms for the scent of their Master. They'd been around the Argent's home when it happened which was… really not the greatest place to be. Why would an Argent ever control a kanima?

Jackson had smelled Matt first and leaped at him from behind, knocking the smaller kanima off the siding of the house and onto a bush. They'd hissed and clawed at each other, smart enough not to release any venom and leave the other in danger of anyone seeing them until the paralysis wore off. Matt knew he was weaker and ran, Jackson following and taking attempts at biting the smaller lizard's tail. A police car drove by them and the two froze and took in deep breaths. That smell…

Matt tried to run after the car, but Jackson ignored his need to get to his Master and jumped on the smaller shifter instead, growling and hissing until the more submissive of the two went limp and mourned, thinking that Jackson would be accepted into his Master's life and Matt would be left alone and in pain if the human didn't want two of them to care for…

It was the next morning at school when he took the picture of Stiles and grew hopeful. He thought that maybe, just maybe, Jackson would continue to be a dickhead and not want to get remotely close to Stiles, thus making him unaware of his role in their lives long enough for Matt to feel Stiles' touch first...

Those hopes were buried alive at Lacrosse practice when Jackson scented Stiles after a particularly rough tackle.

.*.

The first time Stiles had them kill anyone came to a shock to himself as much as the man he'd killed. It was at the Armor Tire and Service Center, Tucker Cornish, the mechanic. Yeah, he was a dickhead and he was cheap and liked to con people into thinking they needed new car parts (thus buying them from him), and he liked to eyeball some of the weaker looking guys (i.e. Stiles) like they were pieces of meat… or strippers… but that didn't necessarily mean that Stiles wanted to kill the guy! Okay, it did, but he didn't plan on it and that bit was a fact! He wasn't going to stab the man, or steal his father's glock and make a brain-slushy out of the man's head…

That didn't mean Stiles didn't have to fight down getting a stiffie at the thought of choking the man out and pounding his face in with his fists though. He wanted to; he just knew he never would.

Jackson knew Stiles never would either, and so did Matt. Stiles' emotions were so strong that moment in the garage; the kanima felt it and rushed their way over with the intent to kill the cocky mechanic. Well, Jackson did anyway. He'd always had slight anger issues. Matt paused outside the Garage however, thinking of Stiles, his new Master. Matt knew that he didn't _really_ want to see the mechanic dead and that he would interfere, which would most probably get him hurt in the cross-fire of Jackson's rage.

As they headed inside, Matt and Jackson both took note of Stiles huffing and puffing, leisurely making his way to the waiting room. Matt let his claws drool a little on the doorknob from the ceiling whilst Stiles was muttering to himself. The muttering then turned into griping about the sanitation of the garage as the numbness began to set in once he'd gone through the door.

Stiles was genuinely upset when the mechanic got killed before his eyes. His kanima were pained at his heartfelt reactions while he mourned alone around the policemen, feeling as if they betrayed him. In a sense, he did feel a bit of relief though now that the lecher was gone. It was an unconscious emotion, one that he didn't feel the need to bring forth and examine.

Stiles didn't make the connection that the kanima did the deed until they all figured out that kanima venom could send whoever touches it into a state of elongated paralysis. When Stiles did he spent the night with the two killers and cried until he could do nothing but scream away his pain and pound his fists on their chest. By the time the night was done and through… he was over it.

Stiles always, well after she was once-bitten-never-shy-again, felt intimidated and slightly fearful of Erica. He was extremely distressed by the fact that she'd so easily manhandled him through the school and down to the pool to visit his BFF Derek. Matt of course, trailed after having felt his Master's grief, giving Jackson a pointed look and Danny a lame excuse about trying to recover more data from the camera that Jackson wanted to oh so desperately see what he looked like while he went all "shape of a lizard, form of a homicidal reptile."

Erica was untrained and reliant on her growling and "intimidation" tactics. Easily side swept, she flew against a bleacher where she lay paralyzed and unconscious. Derek. Matt could feel the fear dripping out of Stiles' pores. Matt jumped at Derek who was busy growling at his—Matt's—Master. They dived into the pool after Stiles momentarily thought about whether Derek's life or his phone was more important, and then Stiles dived in after the paralyzed wolf. Derek started barking at Stiles about what seemed to be everything under the sun _and_ in the Shadow Lands. Mind clouded with his Master's fear of being bitten by a testy werewolf, Matt came to the conclusion that Derek was holding Stiles as prisoner, thus focusing on them through his dreadful fear of pools of water and leaving Erica otherwise unscathed in her vulnerable position on the side. He was scared of Derek killing his Master and leaving him and Jackson alone…

Scott showed up, shit went down, and the teen wolf flashed a piece of glass at him. Wow. He found his weakness. In the reflection Matt saw Derek gaining motion. Shit! He could handle one with a barely filled connection with Stiles, not two! Sure that Stiles was safe with Scott being there, he ran out the window and into Stiles' room where he curled up under the bed feeling pathetic that he could barely protect his own Master.

When Stiles returned home he was still a bit shaky, and he was tired. He stripped and lay on the bed, spread-eagle, and Matt crawled out from under the bed with his tail curling insecurely around his leg and waist. Stiles patted his stomach as he glanced at the kanima.

"We have to do something about this…" Matt's heart was ripped out of his chest and smashed with Thor's hammer until enough time passed that no one even remembered it existed. He shook in small convulsions and he curled up into a broken ball on his Master, nuzzling, whimpering, and pleading desperately for Stiles not to mean it—not to get rid of him. Stiles lay there until Matt returned to being human and fleshy. Matt wasn't quite sure of the details, but Stiles kissed his fears away in a tender first kiss, the first of many, and whispered his plan.

Matt would be framed as the kanima Master. Stiles' access to police records and his intel on bending his father's views as well as gaining information via the form of liquor, Stiles would be safe and plan everything out to point the finger at his fury, his Matt. Jackson would be able to vent his anger on the world and distract everyone from Stiles and, for the meantime, Matt. He would belong like he'd longed to do so much and protect them the most. And they would all have their revenge.

Matt agreed to everything, and when Stiles slid into him Matt felt his world blow up in colors and sensations that he never thought he'd felt before. He could feel the hum of his Master's life and feel the connection between them strengthen to the point of being able to hear each others thoughts. Matt rode him until he passed out on top of his Master and Jackson crawled through the window and threw a jealous fit until he was silenced by Stiles' single command, "Hush."

After Jackson had been briefed and taken from the behind with a sock shoved in his mouth over Stiles' computer chair, the three lay together in a tangle of limbs and love and contentment. Stiles had a family. Matt had something he didn't have to be afraid of anymore. Jackson had his answer, Stiles would avenge _them_ and they would _belong._

.*.

The world would burn around them, and they would lay claim to the land coated in layers of soot and ash.

_**GAHHHHH This was so long you guise! Please Review! They all mean so much to me even if they're a single word or three and a half paragraphs of constructed criticism! Thank you so much for reading; you're all just so fab! (You can judge me in your reviews ;p)**_


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